The Game

It's an old game.

Prey verses predator; the hunter and the hunted.

Tonight that game is being played once again, in the maze of refuse littered alleys and abandoned factories that lie to the south of Iacon. The hunter is a Decepticon warrior, classed as a ground trooper and tracker. His prey is a wounded Autobot prisoner, turned loose to unwittingly lead the Decepticon to the secret passages that allow access into the walled fortress of the Autobots.

The hunter sneers in disgust as he watches the limping Autobot. Any Decepticon would have easily shrugged off an injury like that. Simply another reason why they are worthy of extermination.

He is crouched on a rooftop, long barrelled rifle in hand. The shadow of a vent conceals him from the darting azure optics of the wary Autobot.

The Autobot is also a ground trooper, but with the light build of a courier. He moves with an uncannily light step and has some skill at using the dark to his advantage. This would have helped him evade his tracker, if it had not been for the long, ragged, gash wrapped around his right thigh.

That gash dripped energon at a steady rate, leaving an easy to follow trail. The hunting Deception knew it would, he had carved it into the quivering Autobot himself; ensuring that it was deep enough to prevent transformation, but shallow enough to not let the unfortunate creature bleed dry.

A gentle tock alerts the hunter, startling him out of his musings. He growls angrily to himself, irritated at letting his mind wander like that. While he was inattentive, the Autobot had managed to elude him by slipping into one of the many side passages in this filthy labyrinth.

He jumps out of concealment and lands lightly on the refuse littered ground, gun in hand. With the well-honed patience and loping stride of an experienced tracker, the nameless Decepticon starts searching for the trail of energon left by his victim.

He rounds a crumbling wall and freezes. He has found his prey all right. Only now the tables had been turned. Two well-armed Autobots stand guard over their comrade while a third tends to his wounds.

"Well, what do we have here?" One Autobot drawls as he brings his gun to bear.

"Looks like a Decepticon to me." The second replies. "Shall we take him back to Iacon?" he asks of the third. The medic looks up from his work, flicks a glance at the Decepticon, then turns back to his patient.

"Nah."

Two shots ring out, and the game is over. For now anyway.